


At Least We have the Future

by black_hat_with_bells



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_hat_with_bells/pseuds/black_hat_with_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For stainofmylove's prompt: raw: Adam and Elle's relationship in the Company</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least We have the Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stainofmylove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stainofmylove/gifts).



Adam didn’t like children.

It wasn’t that he saw them as flawed as their adult counterparts by any means. They weren’t innocent by any means. Actually more manipulative because children realize how much they need adults. Survival forced them to cry louder than necessary when they wanted something: they could turn off their show at a moment’s notice.

In a sense, people were children just with more height. They needed guidance.

However, they weren’t as messy about it in the way a child was. When he had children with one of his wives, the experience had been…tedious.

There was crying and wailing all night long, and she shoved one of them into his hands while crying herself. He didn’t like the details of…well, he didn’t care for the processes involved. He didn’t like it when one of his sons fell down right in front of him and got a bloody nose.

Didn’t like it when the boy looked up at him as if he were supposed to make it better. How does one control that? He didn’t like the unpleasant twist in his chest at the sight, and in this matter, he’d admit he was weak giving comfort. He gave his best go at it, setting aside his book and getting on the floor with the boy, holding his hands and saying words.

Words were his tools and his best talent. Usually.

Not in this case. Not in any case after. His sons knew better, watching him in a way that was annoying. They didn’t quite feel like his anyway. They were just like any other beings on the planet. He stayed in this prison a little while longer, with this woman actually nagging him, until he questioned what was holding him here.

Oh right: nothing. This part of life was not his responsibility, and there was no reason to keep up the misery. There was really only one reason for his power, to guide. To correct. The oldest being on the planet: what else could it mean?

However. Centuries later and guess what? He was being held somewhere against his will.

Trapped in a Company he had created himself.

And there was a child.

***

The Barbie danced on the windowsill outside his cell.

It was most likely a pirouette Not that she’d know what a pirouette was.

 

“You’re doing it incorrectly,” Adam said. Finally. Through gritted teeth.

These eyes appeared over the window. Her bangs were plastered to her face, and while he admired youth, he thought child, just like the rest of them. The others were just larger and had less of an excuse.

Then insolently she began the dance again. Looking him right in the eyes. He got to his feet and looked out the window, down at her. Towering over her, and she ducked, dropping to her knees.

As if he couldn’t see her. He banged on the glass, and she started, looking up.

“You’re dim, aren’t you?”

She sparked up. Oh. So that was her power. Let there be light. Instantly he saw her potential.

“Not dim,” he said. “But rather useless.”

She sent sparks at the window. “Ow,” he said. “Those little sparks got me.”

She sparked harder, her face frustrated, and now he was going somewhere. He didn’t even have to think about it anymore. His words were instinctual, like breathing to him. Now.

“It’s not as if you can get through the door,” he said, dismissively, and stepped away from the window, looking at the door. He expected it to happen, saw it happen in his mind…and then he saw her looking through the window again.

“What’s wrong? Can’t do it?”

In a flash, the little girl was gone. He wasn’t going to yell or shout. He dismissed the whole experience in his mind except to put the experience in his mental rolodex that lasted forever. He was aware she might have been placed there to test this very thing but he had found out enough.

In a hour, she was back at playing with blackened and burnt dolls. Waiting until she had his full attention, she popped the head of the doll off.

Well.

He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t dislike being surprised, within reason. Even when he disliked it, he couldn’t exactly dismiss it.

So, naturally, he disliked her immensely.

***

Adam had expected the next time he saw her for her to be grinning at him through the gaps in her teeth.

He woke up to screaming. Raw and painful screaming. Then he noticed the lights. On and off, on and off, with such a furious buzzing it seemed the halls were being filled with a swarm.

This was his chance. He felt as if he had been jolted and he rushed to the door that was opening. All of the doors were clanging open, and he almost made it through his—when the generator clicked on and the door started to shut again.

He tried to stick his hand in between the bolt, in order to keep it open, but his instinct told him better. With an immense force of will that he moved his hand back. The screams were getting closer along with the pitter-patter of tiny feet.

She was barefoot, naked, and screaming. Blood was pouring down her legs. He knew but he didn’t want to know. There was a metal device on her head. He knew that too: he had requested that device from a scientist that he had hired.

The sight was no different from any war picture. Like children, they often break their toys. He stepped back, just to watch. Somehow she ended up right outside his window.

“Elle!”

There was that instinctive hatred that warmed his blood, made him feel like brand new again. Bob Bishop was approaching her carefully.

“Now Elle, you aren’t being a good girl. This is very disappointing.”

What was disappointing was more than the noise and Bob Bishop’s unfortunate face that was just getting worse with age. What was disappointing was that she was killing herself.

Instead of being useful and forcing the power outward, the power was going inward and frying her…organs, he thought vaguely. The brain. No coming back from that.

He had to think of a reason to get involved. Whim was not enough. Bob Bishop wouldn’t by hurt by the loss of his daughter.

It’d be a shame to lose the power.

“Give the girl to me,” Adam said. “I can help.”

Bishop looked at him as if the man would like to kill him (but they never could let him go) and then nodded to all the other specials staring at the girl in fear.

The door opened.

Adam remembered the plague and holding death in his arms. In the areas of prostitution, he’d sometimes go there and lay with the women with the blackened teeth and rotting skin. Death on two legs, and the men who visited them, they knew—death on two legs. Science revealed what it was, illuminating what he knew by looking—

Just looking.

They were walking corpses and yet no one could resist holding death in their arms, in a twisted testament to their existence. It was the only metaphor for humanity that Adam could find that fit. But he could, if he wanted. He had understood life very early on, had it under his thumb. Now there was a girl, death on two legs, stumbling at him.

Her eyes saw nothing. He was reminded, strongly, of two things: whores on the street and a painting of Christ on the cross, and knew this wasn’t a girl anymore. She was many things, and perhaps neardeath would keep her at this state forever—a more honest state.

But she wasn’t a real girl now. Her blue eyes were rolling up inside of her head.

He knelt down and took her hand. He could feel the energy underneath her skin, rolling in waves in the blue veins. He was curious. She was a living pulse of pain but it was more in her head than anything.

One sharp pain outside, and if she focused on him—

He slapped her. Her eyes focused and well-well-well guess what he saw in her eyes. He could look at such emotion without flinching. Now to trigger the release valve.

“You really are dim, aren’t you?”

And then she hit him. Full force. The world disappeared. Completely and entirely. He distantly felt his body hit the wall and be held up there.

He had never felt such pain in his life. Not after the first death of an arrow piercing his chest, where the fear was a different kind—not after being set on fire. Not after being suffocated or stabbed.

This was new.

Could he face it?

The only time he was truly hurt didn’t pale in comparison. So he found he could and he laughed while he still could in the middle of the universe.

Suddenly, the world came back, and he was in this small room again with these small men looking at him through the window.

The little girl wandered over, gaze empty, and sat right beside him. He wasn’t going to be concerned about the state of his dress but he forced himself to move with a hitch, the smell—unpleasant—and got a white blanket off his bed.

He wrapped it around her and saw the blood seep through.

“Go get her some clothes.”

“Yes!” a man said, and Bob said, (and Adam already heard him in his mind), “He doesn’t give the orders around here.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Clothes,” Bob barked.

“For which one?”

“Just. Get them clothed.”

Adam touched the girl’s face slightly. He saw the bruise welling up. Her eyes caught his attention more. Blue like the bruises he never kept.

“Welcome back to the land of the living. You have me to thank for that,” he said. “You can get me back for it later.”

She watched him back, and he touched her cheek again, gently.

“Oh yes you will.”

***

The payback came very soon.

Elle, as she was called, wouldn’t leave the room. She hid under the bed. Under the bed he slept on. Very amusing. Bob was amused.

He had chosen these people because of their corruption, their innate…flaws that were large, apparent. The irony was that they’d create their own downfall. Bob was amused because Bob was small and a pessimist. He thought his daughter was beyond help, completely feral and unresponsive after the latest dose.

Contrary to what they thought, Adam was no pessimist. He considered himself quite the optimist. He still thought humanity had a chance.

The rest of them did not.

So, he let her stay here, making a place for himself on the floor with blankets and pillows. She was curled up and watched him from the shadows.

“Goodnight, Elle,” he said and moved the second pair of blankets to cover the space between the bed and the floor, a kind of curtain.

In the morning, Bob brought food and Adam slipped it under the curtain on a plate. Bob didn’t know what to do.

So, Adam told him, and the effect was pretty…pathetic.

“I think you just want to use our money to watch movies.”

Adam stared at him in such a way that Bob dropped his eyes.

“Not tonight,” Adam continued. “It’s too soon.”

“Right, right.”

As if the man knew anything. Bishop never understood that his daughter died at age eight.

As fabricated as the human personality was, with no real point of contact or substance, Elle…didn’t even have that façade. She was pure energy, and her personality was gone.

It was up to Adam to reconstruct her.

***

“You’re going to walk.”

Elle had taken to not walking at all. They let the cell open next door when she needed the basic biological necessities, but she’d come back and when she did, it was on all fours.

Whatever burdens that he had trained himself to endure, he wasn’t going to endure this. He just shouldn’t have to. That indignity, he would not abide by.

He grabbed her hands and made her stand. Of course, she burnt his hands, but that was old hat. At least he knew he was alive, or that sort of philosophical garbage a man would spout to relate to what he was.

She struggled but he kept her upright.

“I’m not about to let you go until you do it right.”

“No.”

A word. Good.

“Well, if you can’t walk, you certainly couldn’t do a pirouette if you can’t walk.”

She seemed to consider it.

“Five steps. Would be enough.”

She stood. Didn’t walk. But that was enough. He was the epitome of patience.

***

He woke up with her curled up against him.

And it wasn’t a good curled up. Her hands had sparked enough to leave ashes around his wrists.

“This is why you have to start talking more. You must have more ways to torture me,” he mocked.

“That man said I was hurting them.”

For her first string of sentences, that one wasn’t a winner.

“Well, your father is an idiot.”

“What’s that?”

“Never mind. You should never be ashamed of your power. It can hurt, yes, but it can do more. Much more. In this case, they’ll learn to like it.”

“Really? And I’ll have friends?”

He shouldn’t. Well, he absolutely should. Energy was energy was energy, and she didn’t know what a ‘friend’ meant. It was just a word to her. In that way, she was years before her time.

“Yes.”

“Sometimes my friends leave after I play with them.”

“Do what your father tells you,” Because he couldn’t lose her, “but I can’t leave you.”

A slight charge in the dark, and he focused on that rather than feeling anything. Step by step, this was why he was him.

He did what was necessary for the bigger picture, and only he could ever see it.

Only him.

***

“See how the women flirt?”

Elle saw, her eyes wide at the TV.

“This is a script,” he explained.

She stared at him quizzically.

“A set…it’s what you’re supposed to do.”

Granted it was a Disney movie, courtesy of Bishop’s sick sense of humor. Adam would use it to his advantage.

He thought he got the message across.

“What’s flirting?” she asked.

Dear… “It’s how you defend yourself. You’d better learn. Scripts make them feel at ease, and they won’t be inclined to hurt you. It’s how you pass around society. How you get what you want.”

That was what caught her attention the most.

Elle thought about it, and he expected more questions in her somewhat off-beat but determined way. Once she wanted something, she didn’t stop in her pursuit to have it.

Even if it would kill her.

“What’s your script?” she asked, instead. He wanted to say a thousand things, a plaintive denial. He was the only one without a script, really, even if he employed techniques. But denial would make it seem otherwise.

“Bloody prince charming.”

“You are bloody a lot,” she said simply and curled up against him in the chair. In this locked room, one surge of her power would have unleashed a triggered gas that would knock them both out. In this locked room, he could pretend he was free, however.

He hated containment, confinement. More than anyone.

She was the key, but time was running out for her. If she didn’t improve, they would test her to learn all they could and then exterminate her for being a danger to herself and others.

He couldn’t lose the power.

He watched her play with his hand, sparking here and there, and he remembered a long time ago when a woman held his hand. He remembered fire there too, and that was all the memory he needed.

He couldn’t lose the power. Couldn’t.

“See how she is with her father. She calls him daddy and is perfectly chirper. That means cheerful. Happy. She wants to make him happy. You want to make your dad happy.”

“Really?” she asked, unsure.

“Really,” he said, his voice holding all the conviction of stone. “Act as if your life depends on it.” The next day, Bishop came by and Elle was bright and chipper. Bob looked floored and oddly flustered

She was let out of his cell, allowed to roam around again. She—most likely—would not be terminated.

He couldn’t get comfortable and he felt unbalanced. Something missing by his side, and…

He thought of others things. Of freedom.

She needed him, and that was all that mattered. He was proven right (as expected) when she was so proud to have brought his food to him.

As if she had accomplished something amazing.

He humored her merely because he could.

***

“They don’t like me.”

Complaints. Now that she started to talk, she never shut up. He found that the things he created always were…he looked at the walls around him, in a bad mood.

“Color me surprised,” he said, pushing his luck. He had begun to see how far she could go without coming back. It was never very long. He could say whatever he pleased at this point.

“I might color you black and red,” she said, offering.

“That would bring out my eyes,” he said.

“If you have them after I’m done.”

“At that moment,” he corrected. “Timing is everything.” She waited, sitting next to him, and just…waited.

“What don’t they like?” he asked, finally.

“They’re strapped down and I just make them feel better. Is that so wrong?” she sighed, and huffed, blowing her bangs away from her face. Now. He could tell her exactly what was wrong. There was a moment of morbid fascination with what she was doing. He was sure there was a great social experiment locked up somewhere in here.

About simple urges that she didn’t understand.

“As long as they’re strapped down,” he said, shrugging. He didn’t think he could explain it to her. Not because he couldn’t. She only had so much to balance her: her precarious structure.

If he told her, she’d lose more over men that didn’t matter (who were here because they were already flawed and failing), and what good would she be to him then?

“You’re never wrong,” he told her, and after a look, she smiled.

He thought he detected some relief. He was only satisfied because he had caused it.

***

“Sometimes I can’t sleep.”

Adam jumped awake by her voice in his ear. She was fourteen and in the bed with him, and he had woken up to his. He wasn’t going to expose any…he wasn’t going to be surprised by waking up or any state he was in while waking up.

She was a time-bomb but he had her under his thumb.

Elle poked his arm. “Do you ever get that feeling, that you can’t sleep no matter what?”

“I’m having that feeling right now,” he said, and she hadn’t learned sarcasm yet. He thought…he was fairly sure. “Just turn around and go to sleep. Your father will torture me about this but I find myself not caring.”

“You’re always tortured,” she reasoned as if this was as natural as the sun rising. To her, it was, and she said it completely without feeling. He stared at the wall.

“Go to sleep.”

“If I do that, it’s loud.”

“…And that made a total of…absolutely no sense. As par on course with you.”

She shocked his shoulder, and he took it. Even grinned at her because it infuriated her that he could take something of hers and own it.

“It’s…like. Loud, though.”

“Explain.”

“Really loud.”

He closed his eyes. Hell if he was staying up for this.

“Mommy is screaming, you know. And when I visit her when I’m awake, she’s quiet. Well, she’s kind of a golden statue, so that makes sense, but-.”

He was on top of her in a minute, his hand covering her mouth.

“Does your father know that you know? That you visit your mother wherever he’s hiding her?” he hissed, and she bit his hand. Didn’t bother him. “Does he?”

She chewed on his hand.

“Nod your head if it’s yes, for fuck’s sake,” he said, struggling to make her understand something for once.

She shook her head.

“Never tell another person. Not a doctor. Not an inmate. Not your father. Not a soul. Do you understand?”

She nodded, in a way that made him think she understood sarcasm finally. He removed his hand and she got up, fixing her skirt.

“I don’t have to do what you say.”

“Then go wake your father and tell him. Go on. Tell him.”

Elle looked wary. “I just wanted to tell…never mind.”

“What?” he demanded, but she shook her head.

“You know what I noticed? You have the same reaction to me as the other men.”

“The hell I do,” he retorted, not able to control his tone.

“I never thought of you as a man. I wasn’t sure you were, but now I’m sure.”

Adam stared at her, a slow sense of dread consuming him. He hated those who made him feel even an instant of fear or doubt.

“You’re wrong,” he told her.

“You said I was never wrong,” Elle pointed out, smiling, clinging to his words as if they were law. Which they were. But he didn’t mean…for this to happen, for it to backfire…

Now he really did hate her.

“I just said that so you’d be a fully functioning girl,” he said, standing up, primarily to make her feel small. To get her under control. “Or function as much as you’re capable of.”

“What do you have to do with me functioning?” she asked, all sarcasm, and he pushed her.

He didn’t think about it, and there was a moment of surprise he wouldn’t allow to go for long. He acted instinctively, and his instincts were the best in this whole world. He had lived that long, and had something to show for it.

His instincts.

So, he smiled at her own surprise as if she was foolish. Well, she was foolish. Fully functioning…she was an ingrate. He had everything to do with her functioning. He had everything to do with her breathing.

She shocked him, and he walked through it, able to keep moving enough to slap her. Her eyes opened, and she looked as though—despite all the times she had been tortured—as if he had been the only one to ever hurt her.

He’d be offended if he didn’t understand that she was off from the beginning.

“Go take some drugs to sleep. Like the other weak people who can’t function,” he offered cheerfully, and she left in a hurry.

She didn’t come back for weeks.

***

Adam used the time to reminisce.

This was an example of humanity’s failure. He’d hold her as the pinnacle. He had tried to guide her but Bishop’s lousy nature had doomed any attempt. He could see now his words were all twisted by her unworthy mind.

Loyalty to the father was written in stone which made her mean nothing to him. He had given her life but because she was flawed, she’d said by Bishop until he was dead. Adam could see the room in her life when her father did die. Someone would fill it but he couldn’t.

After Bob Bishop? Laughable. And she was a lost cause.

The images of his past came with more frequency when he was alone. He looked at them all with detachment, and his poor mood only came from boredom. He hated being so right. Honestly he did.

Elle came back when he was asleep, and he awoke to her body pressed against his back.

Looked like his words were coming back to haunt him. Flirting.

“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” she whispered.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“I guess not,” she teased.

“Because you’re codependent. You really can’t stay away.”

Elle smiled against his neck. “It’s a hard call since you can’t exactly go anywhere.”

Then she kissed his neck, wrapping her arms around him, and he could see where it was going. That old familiar path for her. It was said that God would be like a three-dimensional being while mortals are only two-dimensional. A poor metaphor but apt. There was nothing more to her: he was sure. He was right.

She was invulnerable emotionally as he was invulnerable physically.

Moments that crept in where only echoes. Mistakes. What he did next wasn’t to hurt her because hurting her in such a way was impossible. But he could confuse her, and for him, that’d b enough. For her, it’d be worse.

He turned around and kissed her in a way that implied love. Implied it. Passionate, consuming, intimate, and he even added the awkward fear of awe—he remembered that trick too. He had years of experience.

Her eyes were wide as he climbed on top of her, and the sex—on her side, it was almost as if she was a virgin. Which she wasn’t. She had told him as much. She didn’t know what to do, in other words, but on his side, he was perfect because after so many years…that was just what he was.

She didn’t want to like it but she did. Judging by her face, she was thrown.

But it wasn’t the finishing remark. He would be the best she would ever have. This would show her what she could never really have.

And then, he looked her in the eyes, and said, “I love you.”

The world disappeared in an instant. Adam hadn’t expected that kind of reaction. It had been a part of their game, these kind of things, but by the time his flesh had healed and he was lucid, she was long gone again.

Strange but her actions meant nothing.

He was satisfied until he remembered her as a child. Turns out, he had a very good memory.

***

Weeks later, Bob Bishop had him drugged and tortured.

His healing ability was blocked but he took comfort in the fact that Bob needed to torture him. Still couldn’t leave him alone.

Any of them.

Then the man put Elle in charge of watching him recuperate. That small kernel of old horror was a ghost, and only lasted a moment. He smiled at her, inviting her while he bled to death.

Encouraging her.

She waited until he was fully healed to shock him again.

He hated her for that, for that pathetic charade of mercy that she wasn’t capable of, and he thought she knew it. Knew she knew it.

Officially, she was written off in his mind.

***

Not quite.

She disappeared for several months before she reappeared with no memory of where she had been. Adam had assumed it was for a mission.

Until he mentally added up the months on a whim.

Then he got it. He didn’t care nor did he mind. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know they used him. He took the pleasure of having her, and that was what he wanted.

During the medicine test, she didn’t show how puzzled she was by his remarks. He teased her, asking her if she felt any differently.

She just rolled her eyes.

What happened next was another instinct. Suddenly he was asking her if she understood a damn thing, if anything mattered to her at all.

Just out of curiosity.

Because that was his child, his, and now he looked at her, seeing a weakness. He shouldn’t have had sex with her. He remembered her as a child, and even if after a point in time every woman would be a child to him, he had seen her. It was like an evolutionary picture: an ape to a human.

Suddenly—he had the sense of being unsure.

“No,” Elle said. “I don’t have to have things matter to me. Having this meaning you keep going on about. You might but I don’t. I don’t need anything.”

He was about to sputter but caught himself, having to keep on guard against every person he met. Every single one.

“You’re addled in the brain, love. You co-dependent-”

She shrugged and waltzed towards the door. Stopped.

“You taught me not to need anything, remember?”

She winked at him and left.

He didn’t think about her again. At best, she’d be dead in a few years.

***

Months passed and different Company men and women came to give him his food.

Because they still needed him. Pathetic. He’d test his luck and trust his instinct. He was patient. Someone perfect would come to him because it’d all work out.

If not, he would outlast these walls. His optimism never failed him. He rested easy and thought about the future he’d bring about. He slept well. Very well.

Apparently too well.

“He was really cute.”

Out of the blue, in his ear. His eyes bolted open and he started awake. Not again.

“I didn’t mean to trick him.”

“I’m not coddling you anymore. Get out.”

“You can listen, I don’t care what else you do,” she said easily, and he was resolved not to. She put her hand on his chest and he wondered if anything she could say would be worthwhile.

She finished her story. Waited. Like the child that wouldn’t leave his room. He could offer her relief. If he wanted to. Mercy was poison to her, so that was what he had intended when he opened his mouth.

“Do you want me to applaud?”

“No. I don’t know what I want you to do. Just…do something.”

“In my professional opinion,” he said, mimicking that doctor of hers, “I believe you drove him stark raving mad. I believe you’re contagious. He’s not coming back out of it, ever again.”

“Maybe I don’t want him to,” she said selfishly.

Selfishly.

“He won’t come out of it for you. If you see him, you should run the other way. Once you hurt a man like that, he won’t forgive you.”

“He was different from anyone I’ve ever met.”

Adam had nothing to say to that: he had plenty to think about it. She was addled and simple and hadn’t met anyone outside these walls. She was only confused.

“What you did was unforgivable, and I repeat: you should kill him, or run the other way if you see him again. Unless you want to die, then by all means, kiss and make-up with him.”

“I just can’t sleep,” she whined. “I feel odd here.”

She pointed to her chest, and he was about to make a remark—but then he realized what she meant. She wasn’t capable of that: this was a script from one of her movies. He had seen all the proof. He’d saved her life and given her back some part of her sanity. If that didn’t affect her, nothing would. He had the depth of emotions, and therefore, he’d know.

He’d know.

“Ghost pangs. Indigestion. Go back to sleep,” he replied.

“I think I….you know?”

And he laughed.

“Maybe you don’t know,” she wondered and moved to get up. The remark had been made in innocence but he found himself on his feet and his arm wrapped around her neck.

“Elle, I’m going to show you the truth. It’s about time you learned about those ghost pangs of yours.”

She shocked him but the way his muscles locked only gave him the advantage. Guards gathered outside the cell, and soon her father followed suit.

“I’m going to kill her,” Adam said simply. “I’m sick of her.”

“Now you know that won’t go over well with management.”

“Certainly not. I’m willing to take her with me. Her life in exchange for my freedom. If not, I break her neck and crack her skull on the metal bed. No coming back from that as I think you know.”

“That’s not negotiable.”

“Daddy?” she asked, struggling, and something in her voice was foreign. Adam let her go. Instinctively too.

He had expected the glare of hatred, of a promise to make his life here a living hell. Her eyes shone with tears, as if she was hurt.

Her father was a bastard indeed. It was time she knew, he was doing the girl one last favor that she really didn’t deserve. In the end, he was above them all.

Elle didn’t come back as frequently. Adam didn’t think of her again.

He moved on as he often did and only thought of the future, of what would be.

Someday the present would be worth his time.


End file.
